


Slightly Convoluted

by Ramasi



Series: Destiny and Lying Dragons [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, Forced Kissing, Insults, M/M, PWP, Season/Series 01, stocks!porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramasi/pseuds/Ramasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: "Merlin gets put in the stocks overnight and Arthur pays him a visit, smut ensues."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slightly Convoluted

**Author's Note:**

> Orginally written an old kink meme, but the prompt was pretty old and I really just needed an excuse...

He shifts his position for the hundredth time, to no avail, and represses a wince – more movement is the last thing he needs – when the wood chafes against his arms and his neck again. The wood is relatively smooth and polished – okay, at least there aren't any splinters – but after a while, the whole weight of his arms and his head resting on them hurts all the same. He's tried holding them up instead, but that becomes strenuous very fast; he wouldn't have thought being in the stocks could be so good for building muscle.

His right arm is relatively alright, the fabric of his clothes protecting it a little, but his left sleeve has rolled up to the elbow earlier, and he has no way to drag it up again, not even by magic, because he needs to see it for that. And he doesn't dare try any more showy magic, because for all it's the middle of the night and the streets are empty, a guard passes every hour, and if something goes wrong it'll be his head. His lower body has more room, his restrains leaving him able to shift it to a number of positions, none of which are comfortable.

It's going to be a long night.

He's just considering a spell that grows fur he's read about – in the darkness there's a good chance it won't be seen, and while it's late spring, it's rained in the morning and it would protect him against the chill as well – when a voice to his left starts him from his thoughts.

" _There_ you are."

It's the familiar tone that usually delivers phrases like: "you were supposed to be here an hour ago" and "I shouldn't have to look for you" and "what do you mean, you haven't finished yet?", only with an amused edge to it.

The reproach and the mockery are completely uncalled for, Merlin thinks angrily, considering it's the speaker's fault he's here in the first place. He cranes his neck until finally Arthur appears in his line of vision, dressed in hunting pants and a light red shirt he should be cold in, sword at his side, and casually leans against the wooden board beside his head. It's probably not really as comfortable as it looks to him right now, but Merlin can't help staring at it in naked envy all the same.

"Of course I'm here, you prat," he hisses, and stops looking at him, because it hurts, turning his head like that. "This is your fault, you know."

Arthur pushes himself off and moves to stand in front of him instead.

"It's not my fault you're so bad at talking yourself out of something," he dismisses; Merlin squints at him in the darkness, and right, he's smirking. "It's a useful skill, you should practice it."

"I am not taking the blame for you ever again," Merlin says, with feeling.

Arthur doesn't seem particularly worried by this – probably doesn't believe him, which is reasonable enough, considering the last times Merlin's said this – and says:

"You didn't have to agree."

Which is true, but he was figuring it's good to encourage the prince to ask for things rather than demanding them – though he has to admit, there's an intrinsic flaw in this logic, and suspects the truth is simply that he's really, really bad at saying no to Arthur whenever he manages to be half-way nice about requests. And anyway, none of this has anything to do with the fact that this is Arthur's fault, so he has no business standing around looking amused and being a prat.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"I was looking for you," Arthur explains, which is actually sweet in a way; then he crouches down a little, so his face is level with his, and manages to not be completely annoying when he caresses over his face and pushes aside a hair that's been tickling him the whole time and keeps falling back whenever he pushes it away with magic (he has been tempted to ignite it) in the process. "How long are you here?"

"Whole night," Merlin says, with less venom than intended, when Arthur moves the hand to his chin, holding him – Merlin breathes in relief at not having to support the weight for a moment – and passes a thumb over his lower lip.

"Your lips are dry," he remarks.

"I haven't been drinking much lately," Merlin snaps as well as he can with the strain of his chin still being held up.

Arthur just looks at him for a moment, and then leans in to kiss him.

Merlin is completely still for a moment, surprised and just a little bit dazed as, after a first press of lips against lips, Arthur's tongue licks over his lips and through his mouth and against his tongue as if to meticulously wet every single part of his dried out mouth, before Merlin violently shakes his head to escape the contact.

"I'm not in the mood," he says when Arthur finally gets the message and lets go. "And you're pushing my neck against the board."

Arthur gives him a quick look-over, and then carefully pushes his other hand, the sword hand, between the board and the back of Merlin's neck, and – kisses him again.

This time, Merlin doesn't shake his head but is completely still and unresponsive, for the simple reason that while Arthur's fingers above him are much less painful to push against than the wood, their presence also robs him of the last bit of room he had, so he has no choice but to stay completely still if he wants to avoid brushing his neck against the lower part of the circle instead.

And he really shouldn't encourage the prince ignoring him like that, but Arthur's mouth is wet and warm against his, lips and tongue at once demanding and coaxing, and in the position he's in, he's willing to take what he can get to feel slightly less miserable, so after a moment he just kisses back.

Arthur gives a very satisfying sound in the back of his throat when Merlin pushes his tongue against his, forces it back into his mouth, rubs it insistently; Merlin breathes in deeply: warm, humid spring-night air and _Arthur_ , the smell even more than the taste seeming to flow through his whole body, leather and sweat and soap and metal; and, faintly, tomato, though Merlin is pretty sure that one is from the stocks. Arthur lifts his left hand to steady his neck, palm against his Adam's apple, and crunches a little lower, and, for a moment, this almost doesn't feel uncomfortable anymore.

Then Arthur pulls his head and his left hand back briskly; Merlin, whose eyes have fallen close sometimes during this, blinks at him stupidly.

"What was that?" the prince asks mockingly; Merlin has no idea what he's talking about.

Arthur's lips curl into a smirk that Merlin really, really wants to kiss away, but no matter how far he cranes his neck, Arthur remains just out of reach.

"Don't stop now!" he snaps, vaguely remembering saying something to the contrary not long ago; he's aware that he's probably sounding a bit pathetic, but he's chained up in a market place for public humiliation, he's allowed to be undignified!

Arthur proves that he _can_ listen from time to time by compliantly returning to kissing him; his lips attach themselves to Merlin's upper lips, sucking blissfully; he's crunched lower than him now, so Merlin can comfortably rest his neck against the hand that returns to support him, strong, dexterous fingers caressing teasingly against his throat, while with his right hand Arthur does the same to his upper neck.

Tongue vaguely licking against Arthur's closed lips, Merlin lifts his head outside as far as he can, increasingly annoyed by the way Arthur's fingers can go no further than his neck, almost feeling the imaginary shadow-contact down his spine and over his chest and to his ass and his groin; and he has his eyes wide open now, but sees little in the darkness, and he wants to _touch_ Arthur, run his fingers through the ridiculously soft hair that he's washed only this morning. His hands flail uselessly by his sides, the metal chain clinking against the wood.

Arthur parts his lips faintly, pushes the tip of his tongue against his, and runs down a single finger in a straight line over the back of his neck, the light contact sending a long shiver down to the lower parts of his body; Merlin moves his hips up helplessly, and –

...and maybe this isn't such a good idea after all.

He draws backwards as far as he can, but of course Arthur misses the message and follows suit, pushes his head back against the board, and for a moment Merlin forgets the reason for his movement himself, enjoys the feel of the solid wood behind his head, while Arthur buries one hand in his hair, and entangles the other one with his, making Merlin smile against his lips. But the position is painful to his neck, so he mouths "stop," and then "seriously," into Arthur's mouth, and he does.

"What?" Arthur snaps; his voice is even as ever like almost always, and it's one of the things Merlin loves and hates about him; he can see his eyes now, faintly, wide and sharp, and he wouldn't have recognised the look for what it is if he didn't know by now. "Merlin?"

"Yes," Merlin manages, and breathes deeply. "I, uh, think we should stop."

"Stop trying to think, you have stupid ideas," Arthur instructs.

Merlin swallows; Arthur is so _close_ , and it'd be easy to move his own body just a little closer, to touch him, grind against him, but that'd be stupid, and wouldn't work, and his back is craned in an uncomfortable way already, and this would make it worse.

Then, as if he can read his thoughts, Arthur steps back, and then disappears from Merlin's line of vision; Merlin futilely tries to keep his gaze on him.

"Wait! Where are you going?" He wriggles around helplessly. He said they should stop, okay, but Arthur isn't just going to _leave_ , is he? Except that Merlin really wouldn't put it past him, and he'd be forced to stay here, aroused and unable to do anything about it the whole night, and he doesn't think he'd manage not to use magic. He's not sure how he'd explain _that_ to Gaius.

Maybe it's because of the tension that when Arthur puts his hands on his hips from behind, it sends a jolt right through his cock; and it's not even a sensual contact: the hands fumble a little in the dark, and then Arthur unlaces his breeches with quick, businesslike movements.

Merlin hitches a breath, and he's painfully hard now.

"What – what are you doing?"

His trousers fall down; one leg stays hanging at his knee, and without thinking he brushes it off with the other, naked leg, so it falls to his ankle.

"Isn't it obvious?" Arthur asks from behind him, and puts his hands on his buttocks and squeezes.

Merlin moans, and makes a few dancing, helpless steps back and forth, like that will be any help.

"You – get me out of this, and we can have sex," he snaps, in a slightly altered voice; he's not entirely sure he means it, the wrongness of the situation stifling and thrilling at once.

"Can't," Arthur says, and sounds a little too pleased about this. "Don't have the keys for the shackles."

"You – get them then! What if someone walks past?"

The night air is cold one his naked skin, and Arthur's hands, still now, are a pleasant contrast, and Merlin bucks up against them, just a little.

"I put someone on guard. And –" he adds, in a considerably less cheerful tone, "– if my father finds out I let you out..."

Merlin swallows; the king would not be pleased, he'd probably get some worse punishment, and Arthur might not be trusted to act reasonably about him ever again.

"Wait," he then says, remembering Arthur's first objection, though it's just as much to change the subject – talking about Uther is sure to ruin the mood – as because he's actually annoyed. "You were _planning_ for this?"

Arthur doesn't answer; instead, he removes his hands; Merlin makes an annoyed, high-pitched sound in the back of his throat.

"Well?" the prince says after a moment.

"What?" Merlin asks back, worriedly, and tries to stand still.

"Any other stupid plans?"

Merlin huffs out air, completely out of other options to show his anger.

"Get on with it!" he snaps, and he can almost feel Arthur grin.

Arthur complies, more or less: his hands are back, only instead of giving any attention to Merlin's eager cock, they caress up his sides; one of them slides under his belly, teasingly, tickles him. He squirms, as much to escape the tickling as to get Arthur's hands were he wants them, both in vain.

"Arthur," he complains, voice just short of a whine.

Arthur ignores him completely, the bastard, and goes on with the teasing, trails his finger up to his nipples, pinches them none too gently. Merlin grinds back against him hungrily when he brushes his ass from behind. Arthur pushes back against him, and Merlin can feel his aroused member through the fabric of his trousers.

Then Arthur moves down a bit, and, hands pressing onto his chest, the contact stinging a little on his sensitised nipples, leans his whole weight onto his back, and kisses him on the back of his neck. Merlin pushes his neck backwards through the hole in the board as far as he can, while Arthur continues to kiss and then lick. He's close enough that Merlin can hear his rapid breathing now, and he bites down a plea, certain that Arthur won't be able to hold on much longer either.

And then Arthur braces himself against him for a moment, and all contact ceases briskly. Merlin automatically wipes his head around and hisses in pain when his neck bumps against the board.

"Where are you?" he asks, a note of panic in his voice, and realises how stupid it sounds even as he speaks; but the loss of all contact and the ongoing silence are disconcerting in the vulnerable position he's in, tied up and half-naked.

"I'm undressing," Arthur says, after a brief wait; Merlin can hear the amusement in the still eerily even voice. "You idiot."

"Could've warned me," Merlin mutters, but without bite; the image of a completely naked Arthur standing behind him, outside in the middle of the market place and about to fuck him flashes before him, in minute detail.

Now he can hear some shuffling behind him, and then Arthur's hand, fingers coated in something slick slides between his asscheeks, without warning. Merlin isn't complaining: he shifts his position, makes a small step forward so he can spread his legs wider, and loses the contact in the process. Arthur fingers leave a wet trail on the inside of his cheeks.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur scolds. "Hold still."

"You _were_ planning this," Merlin snaps back, voice a bit hoarse, when Arthur's finger pushes in again, coated in more cream.

Arthur doesn't answer, but he finally finds his entrance. He teases against it. Merlin strains his back, trying to spread wider without stepping forward, and tries to relax despite of that. Arthur carefully pushes in up to the nail, and moves very little, coating the insides of his hole, before he briskly pushes in all the way.

Merlin makes a startled sound; he staggers a little, which makes the angle painful for a moment, before Arthur adjusts, and then draws back a bit.

"I told you to _hold still_ ," Arthur snaps, in exactly the same tone in which he says things like "you still haven't polished my boots!", and Merlin absently thinks that maybe there's something a little wrong with that.

"You try i –" he starts, and then he breaks off when Arthur thrusts back in and hits that spot inside him just right, and finally, _finally_ , wraps a hand around his cock only instants later.

"Good." Arthur's voice, smug and patronising. "Stay quiet."

"You're a –"

He realises that he's fallen for a deliberate provocation when Arthur cuts him off by repeating exactly the same movement, stroking that spot and just closing his hand on his cock, creating exactly the same delicious felling.

Then he gives up the very idea of arguing with Arthur, because all his remaining concentration is needed for him to remain standing as still as possible in the unnatural position his body is forced into, while Arthur continues to finger-fuck him violently; his hands make futile grabbing motions, he pushes his feet into the ground with as much force as he can, and tremors run trough him with every thrust. At some point Arthur moves up to two fingers, but he can't tell exactly when. The other hand is still closed around his cock, warm and familiar (he could _recognise_ Arthur's hand) and motionless.

This time, when Arthur draws out and he's left without contact, he doesn't worry, just sacks against his restrains, panting, and the contact is back an instant later when Arthur grinds against him. Merlin can feel now that he's not completely naked of course, only his pants discarded or pushed down; the familiar fabric of his shirt brushes against his lower back as the prince tries to position himself.

"Move forwards a bit –" Merlin tries to. "Not to the side, stop, you idiot –"

" _You_ told me to –"

Arthur puts his hands on his hips to guide him, and there's a whole lot of clumsy shuffling, until finally they've found a position that might work, and Merlin pushes his feet against the ground so hard it almost hurts.

"I can't stand like that, you'll have to –" Arthur puts an arm around him to steady him. "– yeah, alright."

There's another moment of waiting during which Merlin feels like he's wide open, until finally Arthur carefully positions himself and pushes inside in one single, slow thrust.

He breathes out shakily with a kind of relief, though the angle isn't quite right, and puts his whole weight onto Arthur's arm; he can hear Arthur say something that sounds a little like "God, Merlin", above him, indistinctly.

They both stand still for a moment, joined, panting heavily; then Merlin tries to shift his position a little, but between Arthur's body behind him, the stocks, and Arthur's arm, he has no freedom of movement at all.

"You – need to move a bit," he tells Arthur.

Arthur pulls out halfway, and there's some more, very faint, shuffling; then Arthur pushes back in and – Merlin could swear that for a moment he sees stars.

"Bet-ter?" Arthur asks from behind him, voice shaky for once.

Merlin feels oddly induced to laugh.

"Y-es. Perfect. Go on."

Arthur snorts and does just that (and, oh, yes, stars), pulls out almost completely and pushes back inside, balls slapping against his ass, and does it again, and again, and Merlin is certain his whole body is trembling like a leaf, electrified. And he really hopes he won't be sent to the stocks _ever again_ , because there's no way he'll manage not to think of this...

"What if someone comes," he thinks absently, "no, Arthur put someone on guard, wait, _Arthur put someone on guard_ what if he _hears_..."

He hasn't even been that loud yet the thought makes him bit down on his lips and he hisses loudly in pain when there's a sudden thrust and his teeth clamp shut.

Arthur stills.

"Merlin?" he asks, worried.

"I'm fine!" Merlin snaps back. "Don't stop, you –"

The insult gets lost in a strangled moan when Arthur complies, and to be fair, for once it wasn't quite deserved, and then Merlin decides that thinking is overrated and just enjoys the feel of Arthur's steady, fast thrusts; it feels like he's buried deep, deep inside him, every time, and he wants to stay like that forever. Then Arthur moves his free hand to his neglected cock and –

– and _pinches the tip of it_ , and Merlin lets out a loud, outraged cry and flails against the restrains: the pleasure builds up, more intense but contained; Merlin angrily trashes with one leg, while Arthur lets go and does his best to hold him in place with the arm around his waist.

"Will you hold still?" he snaps.

Merlin quietens.

"I hate you," he says, panting.

"No, you don't."

Merlin lets out a long, shaky breath.

"Fine, I don't, but y – oooooh."

Arthur thrusts up and gives his shaft a stroke at the same time. Merlin bites down the "oh", remembering the guard (guards, even? And what about the people in the palace?)

There's a pause; Arthur, still inside him, carefully leans forward, rests some of his weight on his back, like before, and rests his face against the back of his neck, head grazing the board; Merlin can even feel him breathe, faintly, and suddenly wishes he could see him, and touch him.

"Move a bit?" Arthur asks after a moment.

Merlin does his best to accommodate to the new angle, and Arthur starts to move again, his thrust slower than before yet somehow needier (and deeper, even deeper, against all logic). Then Merlin can feel him shudder, and the arm squeezes around him as he comes. Warm liquid spills inside him.

Arthur's fingers are moving faintly, brushing his balls and his cock in almost painfully light touches; his breathing is getting calmer, his arm is still wrapped around his stomach securely. Merlin squirms fruitlessly, tries to thrust into Arthur's flask fingers.

Then Arthur pushes himself off against the board, and draws out of him and away briskly. Merlin shudders: the loss of Arthur, filling him, makes him feel cold all over, and night air dries the sweat on his skin and makes him shiver.

Merlin waits, strains his ears trying to hear something, Arthur moving, wriggles uncomfortably. Sound of metal scratching stone, he's almost sure; he squirms again.

And suddenly Arthur appears by his side, fully dressed, sword by his side. He leans against the wooden board. Details are difficult to make out it the darkness, but he looks a little flushed, hair sticks to his face, and the red shirt is still ruffled. It's a good look on him, and if Merlin wasn't already terribly, painfully hard, he would be getting hard now.

Merlin blinks up at him, and discovers that no matter how attractive he is, he finds it very annoying to be forced into a bowing position when Arthur has such a sated and smug look on his face. Not as annoying as the fact that Arthur just _stands_ there, however.

"Arthur," he says slowly, a little desperately, taking in Arthur's appearance; he cannot believe!... "You are _not_ leaving me like this."

Arthur's smile is downright evil.

"I'm the crown prince," he says. "You can't tell me what to do."

"You –" Merlin struggles against his restrains; the only effect is to turn the smile on Arthur's face into a full-fledged and equally evil grin, and the sound of rattling metal chains on wood. "You can't do that. You asshole."

"I was thinking," Arthur answers, ignoring him completely. "That I am going to start sending you to the stocks after all. You give me enough reason." Merlin stumbles to the side a little, and glares at the prince darkly. "Not during the day, of course. I won't let anyone else see you like this."

Merlin isn't quite listening: he's got practice at ignoring the prince, though apparently all the practice hasn't gotten him used to ignoring his _voice_ , which is dark and smooth and mocking at the same time right now, and did Arthur just say something about not letting other people see him in the stocks? Because _he's_ not letting Arthur talk to anyone else ever again.

And like this isn't torturous enough already, Arthur touches him, tangles still slightly slick fingers in his hair.

"Or maybe during the day after all," Arthur muses, grin gone now, the look in his eyes very intense. Unlike earlier, Merlin really does try to bring his hips forward, and finds that it really does hurt his back and, worse, doesn't work at all. "Put you on display here all day. Fuck you in the evening."

Merlin whimpers and tries to kick him; Arthur doesn't even move away, and jerks his hair a little. And that's _it_ , Merlin is going to reveal his secret, right now, make the stocks with its chain vanish, and then rub against Arthur and kiss Arthur, and they can have more fantastic sex, and this seems like a _perfect_ scenario for this all the sudden...

Then, briskly, Arthur drops to his knees.

 _Drops_ to his knees, actually, in one, so that even in his slight haze and his anger Merlin winces in sympathy when he hits the ground, because Arthur just shouldn't _do_ things like that, that will hurt him uselessly, even slightly.

"Arthur?" he mouths, a bit uncertainly, without voice.

The prince moves forwards a bit, beneath the board, and grabs him, at the base of his legs. Merlin tries to move find a position that will make this easier.

"Will you hold still?" Arthur says.

Merlin complies, stills and stares down at Arthur. The prince licks up the whole length of his shaft, once, making Merlin shiver pleasantly, then engulfs him completely.

By his own account, he's never blown anyone before him, but Merlin thinks that experience is overrated, because while he's lacking in finesse, he swallows around him immediately, completely, mouth hot and wet and warm all around him, and throat tight. The sensation of warmth flows through his whole body like the cold did earlier, almost overwhelming on its own. Without thinking, Merlin thrusts down, deeper, and Arthur's grip, which has shifted to his hips, tightens, holds him when he tries to ease back.

He shivers when he can feel Arthur throat tense around him, almost too tight; he clenches his hands to fists in the air, and leans his chin onto the board, looks down but doesn't manage to see Arthur properly. He can feel him, however, every slight tension and relaxation of his throat (and it's wonderful to be this close, this linked), and his tongue pressed onto his cock, and his whole being is thrust into his tensing need, it feels like he's about to burst – and then he _does_ , comes a long, shuddering spasm, and another, and another.

Then he crumbles against the hold of the wooden board and lets his eyes fall closed. He's barely aware of Arthur still licking and caressing him.

He opens his eyes again when he loses all contact, and watches Arthur shuffle back to kneel just beneath his head and look up: the traits of his face are unclear in the darkness, but Merlin can see his eyes, locked with his, very blue.

And he would stay like this, staring at Arthur and being stared back at, except that –

"Ow," he mutters.

He's not so far gone that he can't feel the wood cutting into his neck and his wrists. Even the metal restrains are beginning to hurt.

Arthur makes a face, though it's too dark for Merlin to see what exactly it might mean, and stands up. Merlin doesn't follow him with his eyes for once, concentrates instead on standing and not putting too much weight on his restrained limbs when the prince walks round the stocks, and draws his trousers back up and ties them. Then Merlin feels a hand on his neck, tugging at his neckerchief, pushing it upwards. He blinks listlessly when Arthur reappears in front of him, and tugs the scarf up so it's between his neck and the wood.

"Better?" he asks.

Merlin tries resting his head on it: no, still not comfortable at all. But softer.

"A little. Thanks. Can you -" He holds out his arm. "Pull the sleeve up as well?"

Arthur gives him a curt nod; it takes a little while to wriggle the sleeve up though the hole in the board. Then Arthur lowers himself unto the ground, sits by the foot of the stocks, leaning against the right pillar, and stretches out his legs.

For a while Merlin looks down at him, a bit puzzled. The prince doesn't move, and doesn't look like he's going to anytime soon either. Is there some kind of protocol to sex in the stocks that no-one has told him about?

"Arthur?"

"What?"

"You should probably go to bed," Merlin offers.

"What did I say about telling me what to do, Merlin?" Arthur says, without turning round.

"You have training tomorrow," Merlin adds. _He's_ been planning to drop into Arthur fabulous bed first thing in the morning and sleep all day, no matter what Arthur might say about it, but the prince won't have that luxury.

"I _know_ ," Arthur snaps, in an irritated voice.

"Look." Merlin shifts his position a little, chain clinking. "Just because I'm not going to get any sleep tonight doesn't mean you shouldn't."

Except that, he realises even as he says this, to Arthur with his, in Merlin's opinion, slightly convoluted sense of chivalry, maybe it does; Merlin isn't entirely sure how exactly this fits in with his being nothing but amused by him being put in the stocks for a few hours or by whacking him with sticks under the pretence of practice, but he's not surprised.

"I've stood guard through the night before, I've _fought_ through the night," Arthur throws back haughtily. "Unlike some people, I'm perfectly capable of functioning properly." There's a brief, insulting pause. "Even when skipping a night's sleep."

Merlin snorts and shifts his weight again, and wonders if he should keep arguing or be quiet in the hope that Arthur will fall asleep here at least anyway. He decides that he has a better chance of success with the latter – and it _is_ nice, not being left alone.

"Of course, sire," he says sarcastically. "Sorry."

Arthur glances up and flashes him a smile. Merlin sighs, and shifts his weight again, and waits for dawn.


End file.
